What Happens In Vegas
by Immicolia
Summary: There is one universal truth, no matter what.  What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas.  Set immediately post Death March, Hiruma x Mamori.  Contains a standard amount of Hiruma language.


Mamori doesn't know why she does it. She told Suzuna to leave Hiruma be for the night, after all. To let him (all of them really) get their well deserved rest. Completing the death march is no small feat and they're exhausted. And yet, she still finds herself carefully peaking into rooms. Making sure everyone is comfortably asleep and draping blankets over unconscious forms until there is only one room left.

One room, containing one irritable quarterback who will most definitely not appreciate any amount of fussing.

He's probably still awake, even. Still awake and working away at his laptop and the instant she pokes her head in the door there will be a growl of, "What do you want, fucking manager?" and she will have to come up with some brisk reply and...

It's probably not even worth checking on him. And yet, she still pushes the door open. Lips parting in a small "o" of surprise to find Hiruma flat on his face in bed, snoring softly. The slightest of smiles touching Mamori's lips as she slips into the room, and looks around for a spare blanket to throw over him; just as she did for the rest of the boys. Studying Hiruma quietly for a moment (not that he looks any more innocent in sleep than he does while awake and terrorizing the team, but at least he looks peaceful) before moving forward a step. Leaning in to gently settle a blanket over his slumbering form and immediately jerking back with a gasp when he snaps to instant alertness. One hand clamped around her wrist, the other already reaching for the closest gun before he realizes who it is. His lips curling into a sneer of disgust.

"Oh, it's just you. What do you think you're doing, fucking manager?"

"I told you to stop calling me that awful name," Mamori retorts. Swiftly pulling her hand back and noticing absently that she's still clutching the blanket. Busying herself with refolding it as she steps back and avoiding looking at him while she attempts to come up with a response. "I was just checking to see if you were asleep or not. Most of the guys passed out right inside the door."

"And you're better off worrying about them. That useless bunch needs to be mothered."

"Why are you always like this? Can't you admit just once that they're doing better and improving?"

"I do that, and then what? They all start getting cocky. It's bad enough we've got that fucking goatee idiot who thinks he can do everything following us around now." An irritable snort escapes Hiruma as he slips a stick of gum from his pocket. Popping it into his mouth and chewing almost viciously as he leans back in bed. The slightest frown creasing his brow and Mamori sighs. Not even thinking as she leans forward, plucking the piece of gum from Hiruma's mouth while he's in mid-chew. Making a face as she flicks it into the garbage.

"You shouldn't lie down and chew gum. As tired as you are, you might fall asleep. Then you'd swallow it and choke."

"And you better watch yourself there, fucking manager. I could've bitten your finger off."

"And you might have choked on that too. Then who would be quarterback?"

He smirks, smoothly sitting up again, leaning in far too close and Mamori nearly falls back a step before realizing that's exactly what he wants. Instead firmly standing her ground. Chin jutting out defiantly in the face of that devil's grin. "Maybe you could. You seem to think you know all the plays, and you have bigger balls than half of those wimps." He gives the hem of her dress a small tug and Mamori frowns. Immediately smacking his hand aside.

"Hardly." A sigh. "I knew I shouldn't have bothered."

"Then why did you?"

"Because." A pause as she searches for the best way to explain. "You push yourself twice as hard as you push everyone else. Someone needs to make sure you don't go too far." Her cheeks suddenly colouring as she notices the look on Hiruma's face. That slightly mocking and disbelieving sneer that silently asks, "Do you want to admit this much to me? Do you want to give me ammunition?" and Mamori tilts her head slightly in defiance. Nose in the air as she turns on her heel. About to stalk from the room when a soft murmur of, "Hey, manager," stops her. Suddenly aware of long fingers wrapping around her wrist. Tugging her back into lean arms and before she can even make the slightest protest lips are gently sealing over hers.

And it's not surprising that a boy so many people think of as a demon can kiss so well.

She knows she's flushed bright red when he pulls away, too sharp teeth nipping almost teasingly at her lower lip, and it's even more unnerving that he seems so... composed. Giving her the same flat gaze she's seen so many times before and with a small cry she shoves him back. Glaring furiously.

"And I suppose this is going to go into that awful threat book of yours now, isn't it?" Only growing more furious as he actually considers it for a moment before shaking his head. That vicious grin back as he flops back in bed. Unwrapping another stick of gum and chewing it a few times before answering.

"No. I don't think so. There's a saying after all." Grin widening as he smoothly switches to English. "What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas."


End file.
